


only pain left to carry

by SmugglerofSass



Series: only what he takes with him [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I'm dragging poor Han through hell, happiness is coming, just not in this part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14322438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmugglerofSass/pseuds/SmugglerofSass
Summary: His career in the Navy is over, the stars are still overhead.





	only pain left to carry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr as a follow up to "only what he takes with him." Not as positive as the summary may suggest. Vague suicide mention at the end.

When he wakes his jacket and boots are gone. 

Instead he has bare feet, a blood stained undershirt and a splitting headache. 

His prison is a featureless gray room and he is the only thing in it. Movement makes him nauseous and it’s all he can do to drag himself to a corner to vomit before collapsing back to the cold floor. Any contact with his skull and neck make the pain worse and a careful evaluation of his face leaves his hands covered in blood. 

He’s shaking when the door opens, his muscles growing exhausted from being in a constant state of tension, a reaction to the pain in his head. 

They are remorseless, dragging him off the floor and holding him in front of an officer whose face he can’t focus on. The man uses his last name as an insult, sneering  _ Solo _ as though it is the dirtiest word he can think of. 

Honestly, Han thinks the man might be just the tiniest bit justified in his anger and vulgarity. After all, this has got to be the stupidest thing that he’s ever done, and Han Solo is no stranger to dumb stunts. 

But  _ what was he thinking?  _ Does he honestly think he can save everyone? Did he even think before releasing an entire group of wookie slaves? 

They drag him from the tiny cell to a bright white room where a medic waits to scrub the blood off his face and make sure he’ll be able to sit upright for the entirety of the false trial he’s about to be given. He’s then forced into a very quick and very cold shower, given a shot that clears the fog of pain just enough for him to function and has a dress uniform shoved into his hands. He dresses quickly under the officer’s watchful eye, too resigned to his fate to even care. He’ll be dead in a few hours anyway so what does it really matter?

He is then marched into a court room, dark walls, a man on a raised platform and the sneering faces of superiors. He doesn’t focus on most of the trial, ignores the fake allegations of spice possession and getting into fights with his superior officers. They have to make it good because he was already chosen as a candidate for Admiral training, was already on the way to being named a Moff within the next ten years. Han doesn’t give two shits about that, didn’t before and doesn’t now. If his situation weren’t so dire he would find it hilarious how wrong they were about him, the Golden Boy of the Navy telling them exactly where he stood in spectacularly dramatic fashion. 

He’s nearly completely zoned out when he hears the Judge order him to stand. He waits to hear the orders for his execution but all that come are  _ dishonorably discharged  _ and  _ stripped of all honors _ . His now former commanding officer steps forward, tears the insignia and ribbons from his jacket and spits on his boots. 

Han is marched from the courtroom by his former squadron mates and is resigned to the fact that his last punishment will be one not ordered by a judge. He does his best not to make a sound as he is beaten for the third time in twenty-four - forty-eight? - hours. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he freed those wookies. 

After, he takes another cold shower before dressing in a drab outfit typically used for prisoners. He is hustled through to a room where they fill out paperwork he can’t comprehend, take a blood sample, and retinal and fingerprint scans. He cries out in pain when they remove the chip from his arm, his first sound in hours. The medic doesn’t even look him in the face, just dumps his kit bag at his feet and turns and leaves. 

Han is thankful to find his coat in his bag, the only cold weather coat he’s ever owned. His blaster is right at the top, too, something he guesses they can’t confiscate as it wasn’t issued. 

A lieutenant is standing at the door when he turns to leave and he sneers when Han opens the door to the swirling snow.  _ Make sure when you pull the trigger, you don’t miss,  _ he says. 

His first order of business is to find somewhere he can hole up so he can sleep this concussion off, hopefully an alley where he can get some shelter from the wind. After that he’ll need to find a way to get off planet.

_ You’ll never amount to anything, worthless scum. _

_ When you pull the trigger, don’t miss.  _

He settles his mother’s pendant around his neck before wrapping his coat around him and starting off into the wind. He won’t forget what they said to him, but he won’t let it define him, he’s heard the same things before, and he’s sure he’ll hear them again.

The Navy wasn’t the right place for Han Solo, but that’s okay by him. After all, he would rather stick to his morals than their rules any day, and he’s sure his mother felt that same way. So he’ll bandage his wounds, get a solid sixteen hours of sleep and then get back to work. They can’t keep him from the stars that are his birthright. No one can.

  



End file.
